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A life robbed in its infancy: The human impact of veteran suicide
Following the Royal Commission into Defence and Veteran Suicides, it is imperative that we don’t just acknowledge the harm done, but that we apologise for it and correct it, writes Lisa Flynn.
Lisa Flynn
I write this on a flight from Sydney to Coffs Harbour, where I live with my husband and three beautiful children – Tully, 12, Denver, 10, and Addison, 8.
I have been in Sydney to assist and support my client, Deborah McKenner, who has just given evidence at the Royal Commission into Defence and Veteran Suicides.
Deborah was a similar age to our Tully when her father, whilst Deb and her brothers were at school, shot and killed their mother before turning the gun on himself.
Deb’s father, John, was a decorated army soldier, who had dedicated his, and therefore his family’s lives, to serving his country. This service took him to Vietnam and other war-torn places where he witnessed and was part of unspeakable atrocities.
Deb describes a wonderful life growing up. She had a loving mother, father and brothers. She loved being a part of it.
Sometime after coming back from Vietnam, Deb’s father changed. He attacked and tried to kill his wife on several occasions. He attempted to kill himself. He was battling demons.
After a failed attempt in the army psychiatric hospital to “fix” him, John was discharged from the army, and he and his family were left to pick up the pieces and “soldier on”.
At the age of 13, Deb said goodbye to her parents for the very last time. Her doting mother kissed her goodbye and sent her to school.
While Deborah and her brothers attended school, her father shot Deb’s mother and himself in a murder-suicide.
Her father was 43 and her mother was 36 when their lives suddenly ended.
Deb was 13 when she lost her parents. Her siblings were 15, 8, and 10.
Deborah and her brother were sent home for 10 minutes to gather some of their possessions before being sent to an orphanage. They would never celebrate another Christmas or birthday together again.
They went from having everything to having nothing in a matter of minutes. They were abandoned by the Australian government, which should have looked after her and her siblings and paid respect to her father’s service to the Australian Army.
Deb showed immense courage, conviction and care as she shared her story with the royal commission today. She has waited 40 years to be heard. She shared her wounds in an attempt to make a change to support veterans and their families into the future, as well as to correct the wrongs of the past.
As I leave Deb for now and head home to my own family, I am feeling emotional. I feel incredibly privileged to be able to assist Deb in her courageous fight to be heard and to ensure her family’s story is not ignored or swept under the carpet. I feel incredibly saddened by witnessing the devastating effects of service on not only veterans but also their entire families for decades after.
I feel angry that our country can expect service from our servicemen and women and yet abandon them and their families when they desperately need help. None of us can ever fix the pain that Deborah has endured, but what we can do is ensure we educate our families and develop an understanding of the sacrifices made by others. We can fight for change, we can hear their stories, and we can validate their struggles.
As the commissioners heard Deb’s story, one in particular tearfully thanked her. The emotion in the room even shocked Deb. It is hard not to grieve a life lost in its infancy, let alone to mourn the end of a family of six, as they knew it.
My hope is that we don’t just acknowledge it but that we apologise for it and correct it. My hope is that the government admits it could have done more and then corrects the wrongs of the past. My hope is that it ensures the wounded surviving relatives of veterans and the veterans themselves are given psychiatric support, housing and jobs so they can feel the arms of the nation wrap around them until they can stand again on their own two feet, and when they do stand again, I hope we applaud them in acknowledgment of the mountains they have climbed to get there.
I would like to believe that Deb’s mother looked down on her today with gratitude for ensuring that her death was a catalyst for change. I hope Deb knows that her story might help the next army family survive. I hope she can rest knowing her pain is not forgotten. I hope we can all carry that with us, too, so in our own small way, we can keep Deb’s message alive until more is done for our veterans.
Lisa Flynn is the chief legal officer at Shine Lawyers.
